


Red sky at night

by feyrelay



Series: Red Sky at Morning, Sailors Take Warning [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, Breathplay, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Moodboards, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, The 100 (TV) Season 6
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 12:39:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19107283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/pseuds/feyrelay
Summary: John Murphy already knows what he is.





	Red sky at night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tangodoodles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangodoodles/gifts).



> CNTW = consent issues inherent to ABO.

Murphy belongs to no one and that’s _fine_.

He doesn’t have parents anymore and he doesn’t have a lover, not since the Ring. Sure, he and Emori have their Thing and it’s great, it’s good, they love each other but it’s complicated and she’s keeping her options open and so is he.

Bellamy takes him aside before they leave the prison ship and says, “You might want to talk things out with her, now that we’re officially all over 100 and, for the moment at least, not dying.”

Murphy nods at the knot of people at the other side of the room, all saying their old, recycled lines before the landing party gets going; there’s Niylah and Octavia, Indra and Gaia, Abby and Madi and Echo and Clarke.

“Oh, yeah? And how’s that going for you, talking it out?”

“Shut up, Murphy.”

***

Murphy belongs to no one and that’s _great_.

He has no one’s disapproval to fear when he takes the music player, though (for some reason…) he still hides the actual, factual action of his theft before he brings the thing out later for some fun.

Everyone must know that he stole it after pretending to put it down; it’s obvious. But no one says anything, and that’s just how they all roll after years of proximity.

That is the new Murphy’s Law: everyone knows his damage, his trauma, and his sins, but as long as no one sees it in the moment, no one says it.

The thing about the _kru_ in _Spacekru_ is that, once upon a time, ‘crew’ meant either ‘gang’ or ‘workmates’.

Murphy’s not sure what they are, but it’s one of those. Certainly not a family.

(A slow smirk makes its way across his face, and he can feel the almost snarl of it as the two suns beat down on him. Smirking distracts him from feeling all the little threads connecting everyone, and how these threads have so little slack.)

 _No, not a family_ , he thinks.

He observes Echo’s silent swinging on an old-timey playground set; the caged bird.

Murphy sings for her.

Bellamy and Clarke are somewhere talking, probably deciding who lives and who dies, as per usual; the bird in the hand and the one who got away. (Or maybe it’s the other way around.)

He tries to ignore Emori’s rapidly-mounting frustration somewhere near him. Their threads are all but snapped; he’s lost track of her exact location in the face of the sunlight which warms him through, despite the oncoming eclipse.

Then the little threads of influence and intrigue tighten, contracting around his shoulder as everyone snaps to attention.

Emori just fucking _stabbed_ him.

(Now _that's_ more like the kind of 'family' he's familiar with.)

***

Murphy heals and recovers, watches the play of shifting loyalties from a careful seat off to the side, much of the time. He sticks to the bar. Raven does, too.

He figures it can’t be that bad of a move. She’s basically a genius and she’s survived both Praimfaya and the Clarkepocalypse with one good leg ( _mea culpa_ ).

There are people with worse survival skills he could hang out with.

He likes her, is what he’s saying. Always has.

She’s also his partner in crime when it comes to ripping into Clarke, which is nice. He’s doing it because if he doesn’t, Clarke could still get them all killed. She’s not effective when she’s caught between natural cynicism and this sad, apology-driven Clarke.

He needs her to pick a lane, and he intends to railroad her into one with a few well-placed comments.

Plus, _someone_ ’s gotta stick up for Reyes now that Shaw bit the dust and Bellamy’s sticking up for _another_ traitor who tried to kill them all. Why shouldn’t it be him?

What does it matter if Clarke’s face crumples a little more with each comment, if the light of hero-worship dims in the eyes of Madi and Jordan, guttering out at the sound of his snide voice?

Murphy belongs to no one and that’s the way it is.

***

Right up until it isn’t.

The weird blood tests they’re all subjected to come back, and Murphy’s a type O negative.

He knew this already, from being so frequently sick as a child. Before his mother had turned vile, she’d always tried to cheer him up by giggling with him about being a universal donor who frequently was donated _to_ ; he received quite a lot of blood from others. The doctor from before Abby’s reign, Doc Hamilton, had always been generous with him.

His mother had used to say he was ‘beating the system’.

 _Not anymore_ , he supposes, as it’s explained to him that he’s what the Sanctumites call an _omega_. He learns that their society is larger than the small part of Sanctum that they’ve seen, and the six sectors of the spiraling mountain are segregated by blood-type. All the Prime (black-blooded) Alphas at the top and all the red-blooded omegas at the very bottom.

(Fan-fucking-tastic.)

The only way around that is to get an arranged marriage to someone with a higher station than him. Since that’s literally _everyone_ , the attendant explains snidely, it shouldn’t be too hard.

Murphy’s not really sure how to take all this omega crap, to be honest. So what, he’s apparently the low man on the totem pole. His skills and his sneakiness and social awareness are looked at as feminine and weak.

Like he said, he knew that already.

***

Then of course, Clarke fucks it up. Clarke is held up as a rare Prime Alpha female because _of course she is_ and Murphy thinks he’s gonna be sick. Furthermore, Russell assumes that Bellamy and Clarke are Madi’s parents and are Earth-married, so he’s expecting them to pump out more little _Natblida_ babies any day now.

It’s not that he hates Clarke, because he really doesn’t. He knows she saved their asses in the end, like always. It’s just that he also knows the regretful, but ruthless pragmatism she possesses. It’s her trademark; the only thing she possesses more fully is Bellamy’s heart.

He thinks of black blood pumping through the veins of a driven, newly-powerful woman.

(He thinks of Ontari.)

Murphy is a lot of things, but forgetful isn’t one of them. He remembers her touch, the way she’d turned his natural, albeit unwanted, attraction to her against him. He remembers how arousal felt oily on his skin for years afterward. He remembers how it had changed things with Emori, had sapped their intimacy and poisoned his pride in her progress on the Ring.

(When will she be less expendable than I am? When will her needs be more important, as a pilot and Raven’s _protégé_ , than mine when it comes time to ration? Will I still be able to say ‘no’ when I want to? Will my voice still be heard over the sound of thrusters that she will control, along with Raven, the woman I crippled? Echo’s with Bellamy and I’m the odd man out. The first to float...)

It had been a precarious time for him, on the Ring, made only more so by the self-fulfillment of his self-destructive prophecy. He and Emori had broken up and he’d felt _relief_.

At least Murphy knew from which direction the danger would come, if it did come.

He wants to give that chance to Bellamy, wants to be there for one of his oldest friends when Clarke, riding high on what he’s been informed is Alpha hormones, inevitably presses her considerable emotional leverage and breaks Bellamy’s heart the first time she goes into rut.

Their fearless leaders get to work building their shelter in the Sky District, reserved for the crème de la crème.

Murphy proposes to Raven the next day, citing strategy in a world neither of them trust. He tells her they can build their house in the Cloud District, one step down from Clarke’s, and be in a better position just down the hill from Ryker’s machine shop (and the precious motorbikes), should the shit hit the fan.

(She says yes.)

Then they find out about the tattoos, inky black things with a singular purpose and an obvious message.

Murphy belongs to Raven Reyes.


End file.
